"Time and patience."
Smith sighed. It had been a long few days, both with Solace and without her. He had had to either explain or cover up his lapse in productivity, and given that he would be answering to a far harsher task master than any human he had chosen to cover it up. This had resulted in far more arrests than he would have liked, and far more contact with the humans than he really wanted. Except, of course, for Solace.
And in the end it had all been futile anyway. He still didn't know if he was going to tell her.
"Most humans have neither time nor patience. I am surprised..."
"That I do? Why? You already know I'm not like most people."
Smith shook his head "I suppose I do."
Solace repressed a twitch as a young skater appeared seemingly out of nowhere beside her, and then just as quickly disappeared. Smith wondered if she would ever settle down, stop being so jumpy. "You keep trying to put me into a category, a box. Don't. That's a sign of sloppy thinking, for one thing."
The Agent blinked. "I do?"
"You do."
Sloppy thinking. She was right. Again. "I will attempt to curb my pigeonholing in the future."
She chuckled. "Save it for the pigeons. Which reminds me..." She reached across her waist and pulled what appeared to be a stale loaf of bread out of her purse. "Feed the birds, tuppence a bag."
He stared at her as though she'd grown a second head.
"Mary Poppins?"
Query_marypoppinsl result_film. It scrolled before him in a microsecond.
"You intend to feed the pigeons?"
She rolled her eyes at him. "If you're going to quote Banks..."
"Feed the birds and what do you get..." he said at the same time.
"Fat birds!"
Solace laughed. "Nevertheless..." she broke the bread in half and handed him one, which he took reluctantly. He started knocking off chunks and, almost immediately, birds began to flock to them. Smith tried not to think of the very many diseases they carried.
'"Not like that!" she laughed again and pushed his hands down gently, holding her half a loaf out in front of her to show him. "You have to break it into smaller pieces."
"Why?"
She blushed. It was rare that she did that. "It's silly... it's a superstition. The birds that fly away with your food in their mouths take your prayers with them."
He blinked.
"I know... ridiculous, isn't it."
It certainly sounded ridiculous. But over the past month of association with her he was starting to learn that sometimes the easy answer wasn't always the right or true one. And even in matters of superstition, the belief usually served a functional purpose.
And then, too, he didn't want to disappoint her. Didn't want to hurt her. The rational explanation was that she was still fragile from the events of the last week, and he still needed the data she provided. Again, as with her, the easy answer for him was becoming less and less aligned with the true one. It annoyed him, when he allowed himself to consider it.
But he did break the bread into smaller pieces.
They watched the pigeons scatter. Smith amused himself by calculating patterns out of their flights, then snarled inwardly as he realized he was doing it out of whimsy. When all the birds and bread had gone they continued walking, passing by Joe at his chess board.
"How is your work going?"
"It's going... I'm doing in-house work for now... editing, mostly. Rachel's letting me take it easy for a couple weeks. Then I go back into the field."
"Where people point guns at you."
:"You're never going to let that go, are you?"
"I still cannot believe that you have such a disregard for your own safety."
"Hey, that car wasn't my fault. It came out of nowhere."
"At that speed you would have had to see it coming..."
"Oh, hush. I'm here, I'm alive, what more do you want?"
Smith didn't answer, almost afraid that he would have an answer for her. Definitely nervous about what that answer might be.
"Hey..." she brushed her fingertips over his arm, misapprehending the reason for his silence. "I'm here, I'm alive. Despite handguns, hot-rodders, and hordes of vicious gang-bangers. I'm okay. I'll survive." She smiled. "No power in the 'verse can stop me."
For once, Smith actually knew what the hell she was talking about. Primarily because he had downloaded that program in preparation for the apprehension of another potential Resistance member. "You stole that."
"I did indeed. You may now arrest me for theft of a line." She held out her hands as though to be cuffed, and the Agent rolled his eyes. They kept walking.
"Is getting shot at a common occupational hazard for you?" He couldn't resist asking the question, although this time it was because he was genuinely curious.
"Not usually. Oh, we'll get pushed around by cops, staties..." she grinned sideways at him. "Feds. But most of the time people know better than to point guns at the press; it doesn't help matters any and it just opens them up to a lawsuit. I just happened to get unlucky that time."
"Ah."
"Does it really bother you, that someone tried to shoot me? Or was going to, anyway."
He temporized with an ease that only a computer program could have mustered. "I'm curious as to why you would go out of your way to put yourself in a position to be shot at, simply for the sake of a good story."
"Well, as I said, I don't usually get shot at..." Smith nodded. "But ... it's about the information. It's all about the information. It's about what people know today, that's where the power is. Hell, most of the time that's where the power always was. And if I can get accurate information to as many people as possible... well, that's worth risking a bullet for."
He stared at her, thinking about her words. "There's a war out there... a world war. And it's not about who's got the most bullets, it's about who controls the information." Her eyes widened at his imitation of the actor, but he had taken care to adulterate it so that it didn't seem too unusual.
They finished the quote together. "What we see and hear, where we work, how we think..."
Solace nodded. "It's all about the information. Exactly."
"A very... enlightened view."
She shrugged. "I try."
More silence. They passed under the trees that let their stippled light down onto the paved path beneath their feet. A breeze tickled at the ends of his hair and blew her skirt gently around her ankles. He enjoyed the peace of the moment, especially the way she didn't seem to feel the common human need to fill up a silence with talk. The lapses in conversation between them had started to stretch longer and longer, but more than that, they had started to be comfortable.
Something occurred to him. "Tremain?"
She shrugged wryly. "Doesn't fit well with Solace, does it?"
He turned around and walked backwards for a little while. For some reason he wanted to see her face when he said it. Lingering remnants of his programming attempted to override. Rebellious, he quashed them. "I think it suits you."
"Really"
"Yes."
She smiled. "Thanks."
"And what is your real first name?"
Her smile was sheepish, and she was staring at the ground "My real name is Alice. At least, it was after my parents realized that Solace wasn't an appropriate name for someone who might want to grow up to be a lawyer or a banker or something." She chuckled more to herself than for his benefit and pushed her hair back. "They changed my name to Alice when I was ten."
"Alice Tremain."
"Yeah."
"It is a pretty name." His words sounded stilted, even to him. It had been that way a lot lately.
"Thank you..."
There was a brief silence.
"John Smith?"
He shrugged. "It was the best my parents could come up with on short notice," he temporized. Thought briefly of the Architect, the closest she was likely to get to seeing anything resembling a father figure to Smith. Thought of what its facial expression was likely to be upon hearing this conversation.
"So you were a surprise."
"Something like that."
The conversation was rapidly descending from the surreal to what he would have almost called the sublime. And it still wasn't any place he wanted it to go.
"If I have a son, I'd be tempted to name him Lewis. Just because. And a daughter named Carol. Or maybe that's just silly..."
"It's just silly."
"Spoilsport."
They walked along in silence, friendly, easy, peaceful. That was one thing about Solace he tentatively enjoyed; if she didn't have anything to say, she wouldn't say anything. On the other hand, if she had something to say, whether it was of substance or just a random utterance, she would say it. She wouldn't, however, necessarily expect a response. Unfortunately this seemed to place the burden of starting the conversation on Smith, and he still wasn't sure he wanted to tell her.
"Solace..." he said finally.
"Yeah?"
"What would you say if I told you..." the words wouldn't come out. No human phrase could describe it adequately, and to explain what it meant to be abruptly bereft of purpose and meaning would have meant disclosing things to her that could put her in jeopardy... or make her part of the Resistance. The thought stabbed at his chest. Suddenly he didn't want to say anything. And that was another good thing about Solace... she didn't press. Didn't push. If he wanted to let it drop, it would stay dropped.
"Told me what?"
"Nothing."
Smith sighed. It had been a long few days, both with Solace and without her. He had had to either explain or cover up his lapse in productivity, and given that he would be answering to a far harsher task master than any human he had chosen to cover it up. This had resulted in far more arrests than he would have liked, and far more contact with the humans than he really wanted. Except, of course, for Solace.
And in the end it had all been futile anyway. He still didn't know if he was going to tell her.
"Most humans have neither time nor patience. I am surprised..."
"That I do? Why? You already know I'm not like most people."
Smith shook his head "I suppose I do."
Solace repressed a twitch as a young skater appeared seemingly out of nowhere beside her, and then just as quickly disappeared. Smith wondered if she would ever settle down, stop being so jumpy. "You keep trying to put me into a category, a box. Don't. That's a sign of sloppy thinking, for one thing."
The Agent blinked. "I do?"
"You do."
Sloppy thinking. She was right. Again. "I will attempt to curb my pigeonholing in the future."
She chuckled. "Save it for the pigeons. Which reminds me..." She reached across her waist and pulled what appeared to be a stale loaf of bread out of her purse. "Feed the birds, tuppence a bag."
He stared at her as though she'd grown a second head.
"Mary Poppins?"
Query_marypoppinsl result_film. It scrolled before him in a microsecond.
"You intend to feed the pigeons?"
She rolled her eyes at him. "If you're going to quote Banks..."
"Feed the birds and what do you get..." he said at the same time.
"Fat birds!"
Solace laughed. "Nevertheless..." she broke the bread in half and handed him one, which he took reluctantly. He started knocking off chunks and, almost immediately, birds began to flock to them. Smith tried not to think of the very many diseases they carried.
'"Not like that!" she laughed again and pushed his hands down gently, holding her half a loaf out in front of her to show him. "You have to break it into smaller pieces."
"Why?"
She blushed. It was rare that she did that. "It's silly... it's a superstition. The birds that fly away with your food in their mouths take your prayers with them."
He blinked.
"I know... ridiculous, isn't it."
It certainly sounded ridiculous. But over the past month of association with her he was starting to learn that sometimes the easy answer wasn't always the right or true one. And even in matters of superstition, the belief usually served a functional purpose.
And then, too, he didn't want to disappoint her. Didn't want to hurt her. The rational explanation was that she was still fragile from the events of the last week, and he still needed the data she provided. Again, as with her, the easy answer for him was becoming less and less aligned with the true one. It annoyed him, when he allowed himself to consider it.
But he did break the bread into smaller pieces.
They watched the pigeons scatter. Smith amused himself by calculating patterns out of their flights, then snarled inwardly as he realized he was doing it out of whimsy. When all the birds and bread had gone they continued walking, passing by Joe at his chess board.
"How is your work going?"
"It's going... I'm doing in-house work for now... editing, mostly. Rachel's letting me take it easy for a couple weeks. Then I go back into the field."
"Where people point guns at you."
:"You're never going to let that go, are you?"
"I still cannot believe that you have such a disregard for your own safety."
"Hey, that car wasn't my fault. It came out of nowhere."
"At that speed you would have had to see it coming..."
"Oh, hush. I'm here, I'm alive, what more do you want?"
Smith didn't answer, almost afraid that he would have an answer for her. Definitely nervous about what that answer might be.
"Hey..." she brushed her fingertips over his arm, misapprehending the reason for his silence. "I'm here, I'm alive. Despite handguns, hot-rodders, and hordes of vicious gang-bangers. I'm okay. I'll survive." She smiled. "No power in the 'verse can stop me."
For once, Smith actually knew what the hell she was talking about. Primarily because he had downloaded that program in preparation for the apprehension of another potential Resistance member. "You stole that."
"I did indeed. You may now arrest me for theft of a line." She held out her hands as though to be cuffed, and the Agent rolled his eyes. They kept walking.
"Is getting shot at a common occupational hazard for you?" He couldn't resist asking the question, although this time it was because he was genuinely curious.
"Not usually. Oh, we'll get pushed around by cops, staties..." she grinned sideways at him. "Feds. But most of the time people know better than to point guns at the press; it doesn't help matters any and it just opens them up to a lawsuit. I just happened to get unlucky that time."
"Ah."
"Does it really bother you, that someone tried to shoot me? Or was going to, anyway."
He temporized with an ease that only a computer program could have mustered. "I'm curious as to why you would go out of your way to put yourself in a position to be shot at, simply for the sake of a good story."
"Well, as I said, I don't usually get shot at..." Smith nodded. "But ... it's about the information. It's all about the information. It's about what people know today, that's where the power is. Hell, most of the time that's where the power always was. And if I can get accurate information to as many people as possible... well, that's worth risking a bullet for."
He stared at her, thinking about her words. "There's a war out there... a world war. And it's not about who's got the most bullets, it's about who controls the information." Her eyes widened at his imitation of the actor, but he had taken care to adulterate it so that it didn't seem too unusual.
They finished the quote together. "What we see and hear, where we work, how we think..."
Solace nodded. "It's all about the information. Exactly."
"A very... enlightened view."
She shrugged. "I try."
More silence. They passed under the trees that let their stippled light down onto the paved path beneath their feet. A breeze tickled at the ends of his hair and blew her skirt gently around her ankles. He enjoyed the peace of the moment, especially the way she didn't seem to feel the common human need to fill up a silence with talk. The lapses in conversation between them had started to stretch longer and longer, but more than that, they had started to be comfortable.
Something occurred to him. "Tremain?"
She shrugged wryly. "Doesn't fit well with Solace, does it?"
He turned around and walked backwards for a little while. For some reason he wanted to see her face when he said it. Lingering remnants of his programming attempted to override. Rebellious, he quashed them. "I think it suits you."
"Really"
"Yes."
She smiled. "Thanks."
"And what is your real first name?"
Her smile was sheepish, and she was staring at the ground "My real name is Alice. At least, it was after my parents realized that Solace wasn't an appropriate name for someone who might want to grow up to be a lawyer or a banker or something." She chuckled more to herself than for his benefit and pushed her hair back. "They changed my name to Alice when I was ten."
"Alice Tremain."
"Yeah."
"It is a pretty name." His words sounded stilted, even to him. It had been that way a lot lately.
"Thank you..."
There was a brief silence.
"John Smith?"
He shrugged. "It was the best my parents could come up with on short notice," he temporized. Thought briefly of the Architect, the closest she was likely to get to seeing anything resembling a father figure to Smith. Thought of what its facial expression was likely to be upon hearing this conversation.
"So you were a surprise."
"Something like that."
The conversation was rapidly descending from the surreal to what he would have almost called the sublime. And it still wasn't any place he wanted it to go.
"If I have a son, I'd be tempted to name him Lewis. Just because. And a daughter named Carol. Or maybe that's just silly..."
"It's just silly."
"Spoilsport."
They walked along in silence, friendly, easy, peaceful. That was one thing about Solace he tentatively enjoyed; if she didn't have anything to say, she wouldn't say anything. On the other hand, if she had something to say, whether it was of substance or just a random utterance, she would say it. She wouldn't, however, necessarily expect a response. Unfortunately this seemed to place the burden of starting the conversation on Smith, and he still wasn't sure he wanted to tell her.
"Solace..." he said finally.
"Yeah?"
"What would you say if I told you..." the words wouldn't come out. No human phrase could describe it adequately, and to explain what it meant to be abruptly bereft of purpose and meaning would have meant disclosing things to her that could put her in jeopardy... or make her part of the Resistance. The thought stabbed at his chest. Suddenly he didn't want to say anything. And that was another good thing about Solace... she didn't press. Didn't push. If he wanted to let it drop, it would stay dropped.
"Told me what?"
"Nothing."